All 07.3 - What Lurks Within
It was well into the night, and the house was silent as the young druid crept into the bathroom, shutting the door noiselessly behind himself. With a whisper and a snap of his fingers he lit one of the oil lamps, illuminating the room with a soft glow. It had been a few days since the final incident with the creepy harlequin fey, when Victor had chased the creature off. Lucca had been ruminating on the entire ordeal ever since, and its words still rang clearly though his mind as if the creature were right there with him. ‘Why don't you take your mask off? There aren't any mortals around.’ ‘You shapeshift. You're shifted now.’ ‘I'm just saying, why keep hiding from yourself?’ ‘Be sure to tell the mortals that when they all know before you!’ “That thing is so full of shit. I’d know if I was fucking shifted all the time.” He muttered under his breath as he began pacing the length of the small room. Nevertheless, he was here tonight to put the issue to rest once and for all. If, by chance, he was wrong, there was no way in hell he was going to let himself be the last to know. Another different voice echoed through his mind. ‘Always know yourself, know your goal, know your reasons.’ ‘Self-mastery is particularly vital for your goal because to change people, and you will have to change people, you ''must ''know yourself better.’ ‘So what do you fear about yourself?’ With a soft growl, he came to a stop in front of the mirror, grinding his teeth. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, trying to steady himself. It did no good. Fear coursed through him, like little bolts of lightning singing through his every blood vessel. He stared deeply into his reflection, but the familiar greeny-gold eyes glaring back at him held no comfort. Has this ever really been me? Fucking hell. Fucking fey. Fuck everything. “Let's do this shit.” Breathing deeply once more, he willed his quaking hands to move, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. You will not make a sound. Not a single fucking sound. No matter what happens. Not. One. Sound. His eyes darted nervously towards the door as he continued, and his shirt was joined by his knives, his belt, his pants; until he was left shifting from foot to foot in only his gloves. After some hesitation, he reluctantly peeled them off as well, dropping them at his feet. He stared sombrely into the mirror once more, soaking in the details that he knew so well. The measured lines of his druidic tattoo spiralling up his left arm. The pale scar running across his right hip. The familiar contours of his coppery skin, stretched taut over muscle and bone. The messy tangle of dreadlocks framing his face, with its fierce brows and shapely lips. The piercing eyes, tonight more gold than green. How the fuck could this not be me? Of course it is. In like, two seconds I’ll be laughing at myself. Laughing at that dumbass fey. Stupid shit. Swallowing hard he closed his eyes tightly. On the count of three.. He took a deep breath. One. Held it. Two. Sunk his teeth into his lip and squeezed his eyes shut tighter. ...Three. As he thought the final number, he willed his shapeshifting magic to dissipate, his entire body going rigid as he fought to keep his mind blank, not wanting to accidentally interfere. For a moment, it seemed that nothing was happening, and a flicker of relief moved within him. It was quickly drowned by a tidal wave of dread as he felt the familiar tingle that came with the start of a shift. Oh fuck! Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck! The bizarre sensations of his body rearranging itself washed over him, and even with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, he could follow what was happening. A feeling of intense pressure told him he was becoming smaller, loosing mass of both muscle and bone. Shit...shit! This can’t be happening.... Uncomfortable grinding sensations let him know that his bones were moving slightly, his features rearranging themselves to be finer, more delicate. An itchy, crawling feeling all over signalled a change of the pigment in his skin. He screwed up his face as the feeling swept momentarily across his eyes and through his mouth. No...no no no no no...spirits help me, no.... He bit down harder on his lip as he felt the feather light touch of soft, fine hair cascading down around his face and over his shoulders. A tiny whimper escaped him as it continued growing longer and longer raising goosebumps as it tickled the curve of his back, then his calves and kept going. Shut the fuck up! Shut up! Don’t you dare make a sound! He clenched his hands into fists against the popping sensations in his knuckles as his fingers lengthened, and the last few sensations of shifting subsided, a knot of nausea gripping his stomach as he realized a few of them he didn’t recognize. He stood there quivering slightly for some time, unwilling to open his eyes for fear of the sight that would greet him. This can’t be real, this can’t be happening. Oh fuck! I’m me. I’m me! I’ve always been me, I can’t be something else! But I just...and then....Spirits help me...What the fuck even am I? Holy shit... His breathing came sharp and rapid as he dug deep, eventually finding the courage to look, slowly cracking his eyes open. The creature in the mirror cringed back at him. Its tiny frame shrunk even smaller by fear, it seemed to almost disappear into the cloak of black hair that spilled around it to pool on the floor. Bizarre though it was, he recognized it all too well, and squeezed his eyes shut once more. Fucking hell! Motherfucking hell! It’s the same as the magic mirror! Fuck! I AM the thing from the mirror! Oh no...Oh hell no...Does that mean...no...no. Not thinking about that right now! Nope. It took a few more moments before he could bring himself to open his eyes once more, glowering at the mirror in a mixture of fear and disgust. This time he forced himself not to look away, to confront the creature staring back at him. Just pretend like it’s the magic mirror. Right. It’s just another thing in another place, not actually you. Yes. Like looking through a window, not a mirror at all. His original impression had been one of paleness and shadows. But actually looking now, without having to steal flitting glances the way he did with the magic mirror, he could see that wasn’t entirely correct. The creature before him wasn’t pale, but downright colourless, its skin a shade of white to shame a bloodless corpse. And it was not just small, but rather strikingly thin and fragile looking, the contours of its bones and wiry muscles standing out clearly in the sharp light, lending it an almost birdlike look. Its eerie eyes bored into him, peering out from between curtains of glossy black hair. They were almost too big for the delicate, androgynous face they were set in, with irises devoid of colour, as white as the rest of it. Framed by thin dark brows, they glared at him almost reproachfully as he drank in the image. His attention was pulled from the mirror as he suddenly became aware of a strange taste in his mouth, and realized he was still biting his lip. Damnit. Letting go, he was greeted by the hot, sticky sensation of blood running down his chin. He reached up and pressed his hand to his mouth to quell the flow and glanced back at his reflection. What looked like shimmery, iridescent water seeped from between the creature’s fingers. What the actual fuck!? He pulled his hand back and stared at it in horror for a long moment. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he grabbed onto the counter to keep from falling as his knees threatened to buckle. Is that shit supposed to be blood? What the fuck bleeds like that?! Turning away from the mirror, he slowly let himself sink to the floor and leaned back against the cupboard, touching his face once more and staring at the strange substance. Wordlessly he shook his head, swallowing hard. His eyes wandered along the long boney fingers and down the length of his arm, taking in the expanse of pristine, porcelain skin. That's funny...this is my... His stomach dropped as he realized he was looking at his left arm. Oh holy mother of fuck...my tattoo! Stifling a scream, he twisted his arm this way and that, desperately searching for any sign of the tattoo, knowing it was in vain. Eventually he gave up and pressed his hands to his temples, breathing hard. Spirits damn it all! What the hell am I going to do!? Am I even still a druid!? Shit! First I’m not even a human...I mean, what the fuck even bleeds like that!?! Now I’m not a part of the Order either!?! Fuck! What the fuck even am I then!? He pointedly avoided letting his mind come up with the obvious answer. What the hell else is missing!? In a fit of panic jumped back up and went back over to the mirror, throwing his hair over his shoulders to finally take a proper look at himself. For a long time he simply stared, reaching out to catch himself once more when the feeling of weakness returned. Slowly he reached up to touch his stomach, running his fingers over the featureless expanse where his navel should have been. I...was never born...?...not like a mammal anyway...That’s stupid as shit, how else-'' The thought was cut off by the vivid memory of a certain sizeable stork, and the words of a grateful raccoon. Uncomfortable with the implications, he shook his head and turned his attention once again to his reflection as his eyes roved across his chest, he swallowed hard. ''Not a mammal. As his eyes continued to wander, he noted with some interest that his scar was still present on his hip, before dropping his gaze lower and stopping, staring blankly for quite some time. I...am not even...I don’t...I...What then...? As the implications of what he was looking at began to sink in, he made a small noise and dropped to the floor. Slowly drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them close, he buried his face against them. I can’t deal with this shit right now...too much at once...too fucking much...What the fuck am I supposed to be? What the fuck am I supposed to do? What the fuck does any of this even mean? Damn it all... Although loathe to admit it, he was sure that he knew the answer to at least one of those questions; if anything, it just made everything worse. His eyes stung and he curled in tighter on himself, taking a deep, shuddering breath. ...What the hell am I gonna do...? Category:Advent of the All